At that moment the knight regained consciousness. He was now too weakened to raise himself up, however. A low moan escaped his clenched teeth. “He is with us still,” said Izash. “How persistent this courier is.”

Biorkis and the old priest placed their heads close to the knight’s. “Good Ronsard,” Biorkis whispered. “Do not tax yourself further for your life’s sake. We possess some skill in healing, and have often delivered a soul from Manes’ hands. Rest now. Let us tend your wounds and strengthen you to your purpose.”

“No!” the knight objected with surprising force. “There’s no time. One of you must ride to the Queen.” His eyes implored the priest.

“Sir, you do not know what you ask,” Izash answered. He waved an arm to include the whole of the assembled priests. “We are under sacred vows and cannot leave the temple, except on pilgrimage, or matters of the highest sacred import. The fate of nations, kings, and powers concerns us not at all. We serve only the god Ariel; we are his subjects alone.”

Biorkis looked sadly down upon the dying man. “He speaks the cold heart of the oath we have taken. My own heart says, ‘Go,’ but I cannot. For to leave the temple on this errand would mean breaking our sacred vows. Any priest who did that would forfeit his whole life’s work and his soul’s eternal happiness. There are none here who would risk that, nor would I ask it of them.”

The priests nodded solemnly in agreement. Some shrugged and turned away lest they be drafted to the task, others held out their hands in helpless supplication.

“Will not one of you match your life with mine? Will no one risk the displeasure of the god to save the King?” The knight’s challenge sounded loud in the ears of those around him although he’d spoken barely a whisper.